“I don’t have your dope,” I yelled, making him half-turn. “Get it through your head, you stupid piece of shit.”
Lindsey tilted her head slightly, yet still aimed down the gun’s barrel. “Get out, Austin,” she said quietly. Softly. “Leave. I’m not afraid to kill you and your friend.”
“You know my name.” Rivers gave me a long stare. “But I don’t know yours. Who are you?”
For answer, Lindsey lowered the gun and fired. I wasn’t the only one who jumped at the coughing bark of the gunshot. Without flinching, Lindsey aimed once again at Austin’s chest.
“That went between your feet,” she said as calmly as before. “It could easily have been between your eyes. You still want to play games?”
“We’ll leave,” Rivers said, his voice shaking slightly. “Don’t shoot, okay? We’re going.”
Lindsey edged her way to one side, making sure several feet of air stayed between Austin and Greg as they walked slowly and carefully toward the door. She turned as they passed her, keeping the gun’s barrel high, straight, and steady. Austin glanced back once before leaving and shutting the door behind him.
Neither Lindsey nor I moved until we heard the car’s engine start and the sounds of tires laying rubber to asphalt. Only then did Lindsey lower the gun and turn toward me.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
“You need a doctor,” she said without emotion. “You’re not arguing with me.”
I glanced down at the bullet hole in my floor. “Uh, no. I don’t think I will.”
Lindsey fetched towels from my kitchen, wrapped my gashed arm in one, then pressed another to my lacerated cheek.
“Hold that in place,” she ordered, her voice as uninflected as before. “I don’t want blood all over my seats.”
More than surprised that none of the neighbors heard the gunshot, or if they did, chose not to call the cops, I let her usher me past my burned truck. She helped me into her car, then hurried into her house for her keys and purse. I looked around at the neighbors and saw none standing on their porches, watching, as they had earlier.
Lindsey joined me and backed her car from her driveway.
“Where’d you learn to shoot?” I asked, my adrenaline rush fading away. That brought my pain into my nerve endings, a burning throb in both my face and my arm that pulsed with my heart. As I hadn’t taken my boots off my burned and sore feet before my visitors arrived, they, too, yelled in pain.
“At a range,” she replied. “I had a good instructor.”
“May I ask why you feel the need to have a gun and shoot really well?”
“No. Where’s the hospital?”
I gave her directions, observing she exceeded the speed limit. I frequently glanced into the side mirror, yet saw no cops interested in stopping her.
The towels soaked up my blood until they were both saturated. I made sure none got onto her seats or the door, even if it meant I used my shirt and jeans to sop up any leaks. Though not normally squeamish, my head spun sickeningly at the sight of so much gore.
Lindsey stopped the car at the entrance to the hospital’s ER. Helping me out, she supported me as the automatic doors hissed open. Not many patients sat in the waiting room, and those that did eyed me in some shock. A triage nurse didn’t hesitate before rushing across the white tiled floor to us.
“Okay, let’s get him in here,” she said, her tone brisk, her arm under mine, helping me to remain steady on my feet.
“What happened?” she asked, sitting me in a trauma room, then began assessing my vitals.
“Attacked,” I muttered. “Cut with a knife.”
Lindsey stepped back to allow the nurses and doctors space to work, but she stayed in the room with me. I caught glimpses of her taut face past their shoulders, appreciated the fact that she was there. She saved my life. No way in hell could I pay that back.
“We should notify the police,” the ER doc said, suturing my cheek.
“They already know,” I replied, my voice thick from the injection to numb my flesh. “Dude set fire to my house and my truck.”
“Sounds like you should take a long vacation,” he murmured, “say to Greece.”
“Don’t I know it.”
